


Honeysuckled

by gloss



Category: Single Parents (TV 2018)
Genre: Courtly Love, Gen, Pool Party, Popsicles, The Talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:33:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25828246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloss/pseuds/gloss
Summary: Graham just wants a popsicle, but Miggy and Derek want to talk.[Slight AU, no Lance Bass Space Camp (With a Nod to the Performing Arts) this summer.]
Relationships: Derek/Miggy Park, Graham D'Amato & Derek
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6





	Honeysuckled

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sandyk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandyk/gifts).



> for dear sandyk in the [Equality Auction](https://equalityauction.dreamwidth.org/) for Black Lives Matter. Thank you so much for your donation and I hope this pleases!
> 
> Enormous thanks to Aphrodite Mine for the beta.
> 
> ♥

One of the pleasures of socializing, Graham has long held, is the chance to explore other people's refrigerators and pantries. 

When he comes in under the veranda, his sandals swip-swipping wetly, Graham is thinking about one thing. Just one, perfect thing: A popsicle. The big kind, broad enough to require two sticks, in a brilliant blazing red. The pool party behind him shrinks down to a nearly forgotten point, replaced by the need — nay, the _craving_ — for vivid, icy refreshment.

It's dark in here, so he squinches up his eyes. He's still dazzled from the sunlight bouncing off the pool outside. Inverted outlines — pool edge, tall umbrella, shifting waves — dance in green before his vision.

"Oh, shit!" someone says, followed by the thump of a body hitting the floor.

"Man, watch it, I'm not into the rough —" That's Miggy, but he abruptly stops. When he speaks again, it's in a high-pitched singsong. "Heeey, Graham, buddy, what's up?"

Graham rubs his fists against his eyes. When he opens them again, the darkness is better. He can make out Miggy on the floor in front of a rattan love-seat. Derek's sitting on that love-seat, one leg crossed over the other, hands clutching his knee. They're both making weird faces.

"Popsicle," Graham tells them. "What's up with you?"

Derek takes a deep breath. "Well, you see, Graham, when you're a grown-up and you like another grown-up, sometimes..."

"Let me stop you right there," Graham says. "Is this The Talk?"

Miggy and Derek look at each other, but they don't say anything. Miggy lets out a sigh that's half-wheeze.

"Because I did The Talk already, see. With my oaks, last winter."

"Can I be your oak?" Derek asks.

Graham shakes his head firmly, lest Derek get the wrong idea. "You're more my woodbine. Both of you, actually."

"Your what now?"

"Woodbine. Common honeysuckle. Smells great, excellent pollinator, a hardy climber with showy blossoms." Graham's been doing a little gardening this summer with Tony. He's learning a lot.

"Uh-huh," Derek says. "Okay, then."

Miggy elbows him. "Dude, it's a compliment! We smell good and we're showy!"

"Thanks, buddy," Derek adds, smiling now. "You're my honeysuckle, too."

"Nope," Graham tells him. "If anything, I'm a birch tree."

"O-okay?"

"No worries," Graham says. "But I don't need The Talk, all right? Already happened." He grins to reassure Derek. "All taken care of!"

Frowning, Derek tips his head this way and that. "I don't follow..."

"Oh, dip, you did, didn't you?" Miggy claps excitedly. "Douglas nearly lost his mind!"

Graham's starting to get cold, standing here in his board shorts and nothing else, all the pool water evaporating off him. "Don't be mad at me, Derek, please?"

"Wha-at?" Derek checks with Miggy, which is weird, then looks back at Graham when Miggy shrugs. "I'm not mad at you! I figure maybe you should be mad at me? Or confused. Hopefully just confused. Confused I can handle."

Graham nods. He's well-acquainted with confusion himself. "I'm going to go get that popsicle, guys. Then I'll come back and we can hash this all out."

"Hash what out?" Miggy calls after him.

"Exactly!" Graham replies.

Unfortunately, there are no real popsicles to be found in the kitchen. Bella and Edward's moms don't stock anything with less than 70% fruit content. One of the moms explains this while offering Graham his choice from a Melona assortment. He can just hear his own mom's reaction: blech, fruit? Who wants that when we're lucky enough to live in the chemical-laden future?

He grudgingly accepts a Honeydew-Coconut swirl and heads back to the lanai. Miggy is sitting on the love seat now, crowded up against Derek.

Graham pulls up a wicker armchair and climbs in. "So, apologies first. I didn't have The Talk with you, Derek, because at that time, I didn't know you were, you know." He licks his not-popsicle. "Alive and around in this hemisphere. And interested in being in my life."

"Ohhhh," Derek says. "That makes sense. Is that why you thought I'd be mad at you?"

Graham nods slowly. He's getting an ice cream headache already. "I've heard that those talks are important to parents. It's considered a milestone, if you will."

Both Derek and Miggy look relieved as they nod in unison. Graham's just happy he's not on the hook for another uncomfortable conversation. He nibbles delicately at the side of his pop.

"Is — is that all you wanted to talk about?" Derek asks after a minute. He's using his quiet voice, speaking carefully. It's the one he uses to keep from waking Graham's mom as well as to try to avoid making her yell. It works a not-great percentage of the time; Graham's no math expert, but it's pretty low.

"What else you got?" Graham asks. He sits cross-legged, Melona dripping down his thumb, and occasionally licks himself clean in between working on the bar.

"Well," Miggy starts, then looks at Derek. His mouth stays open.

"It's just that —" Derek says, then looks at Miggy. When they shrug, their shoulders move simultaneously. They both look kind of blank but also nervous.

It's very weird when grown-ups (and Miggy) act nervous around kids. Either you're about to get into trouble or they're trying to hide something from you.

And Graham's fairly sure no one yet knows about the broken rollerblade he has hidden in the vegetable crisper.

That means they're the ones hiding something.

"Is it about how you're holding hands right now?" Graham asks. "And I think you were kissing when I came in but you know how it is with pool blindness." He takes a risk and bites off the last of the bar; frigid cold shoots out all over his skull. Wincing, he adds, as cheerfully as he can, "LA, am I right?" 

"Are you psychic?" Miggy demands.

"How'd you know?" Derek asks at the same time.

"I have eyes," Graham says. "I'm not a baby. I'm not so wrapped up in my own stuff that I don't notice obvious things happening right in front of me." He takes a breath and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Except for that squirrel that one time."

"Yeah, that was bad," Miggy says.

"Thanks, man," Graham replies He looks up to heaven and kisses his fingertips, then points them upward, too. "Romp on, little buddy."

"So you're not mad," Derek says. There's that careful voice again. Graham wishes he could reassure the guy once and for all.

"You know what else Sicily is known for?" he asks them. 

They shake their heads.

"Courtly love, gentlemen. Just like France and England, the traditions of romance originated and flourished in my bright southern motherland."

Miggy frowns. It's the same expression he'd get when Poppy would give him instructions at the Winebrary. "But —" 

"I'm saying I understand the heart," Graham puts in, "and the call of love." He slides off his chair. "In my bones. In my soul. It's in my name."

"You're —" Derek shares Miggy's frown.

"So long as Mx. Pronstroller is on board —"

"Oh, she is, yes! Very much so," Miggy says.

"Then all is beautiful. And now," Graham says, patting Derek's knee as he passes, "I believe there's a game of Marco Polo calling my name. Well. _His_ name, but you get the picture."

He's already in the water when he hears Derek's voice.

"Put on your rashie shirt!" Derek yells after him. "Angie's going to kill me if you come home burned!"

That, Graham assumes, is a problem for later.


End file.
